


Cursed Stars

by Spiderwitch



Category: Original Work
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 13:54:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20583581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiderwitch/pseuds/Spiderwitch
Summary: Tags and Summary will be added in during later times, so watch out for that.





	Cursed Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Tags and Summary will be added in during later times, so watch out for that.

Isn't it wonderful how a stone heated by the sun can burn your hand and suck the warmth from your heart? How a few carefully carved words can tell such a wonderful story and yet never say enough? How two dates, seemingly insignificant on their own, but together remind you of every silent moment. Of every other word you wanted to say, every word you forgot to say. The words you couldn’t say, even now.

It's too much and you turn and walk away, refusing to glance back. The stones crunch underneath and the weeds flatten. You think without pause that she should take care of those. It only helps to remind you of just another responsibility she lay into your hands. It’s never occurred to you just how much she did, how much she cared.

It’s never been your problem.

It’s never reminded you so much of who she was.

It's never hurt like this.

You don't notice you're walking until something tugs at your skirt. Turning, you find a small rose thorn buried neatly in the soft black fabric. The thorn is attached to what is the largest and brightest rose bush in the garden. Or, what used to be. It had always bloomed by this point, it's colours bright and leaves straight. Now it was bare, and low to the ground. No life left.

You drop to the ground, uncaring of the sharp rocks biting sharply into your skin. You focus and run your calloused fingers across every leaf, taking your time with each one and whispering apologies repeatedly. You feel more tired with every word past your lips.

When done, the plant looked a little taller, but there were no blooms. There likely wouldn't be for quite some time. You set off again, this time paying more attention to her plants. Most looked like the rose bush. Almost as if the whole garden stood in mourning.

You want to join them, but you only allow yourself a moment. After all, the garden wasn't the only responsibility you have to care for now. You quicken your pace, the thing should be awake by now.

Feet thumping repeatedly across the stone path calms you. Soft, pastel petals swarm around your rushing body. They land anywhere and everywhere, almost as if carrying their life around the garden. Into the quickening river, the still-filling branches on bare trees. The life which filled your every pore like some minuscule dirt, clogging your every thought and refusing to come out. It let you be anywhere but here for at least a moment.

But by now the house was all you can see. The dark brown wood illuminated with all the hues of the sunrise right behind you. And even with all the beautiful bright colours sinking in its shell, the house still managed to look miserable.

That seemed to be the theme these past few months. With every being, living or otherwise, all mourned the loss of a part of their life. There was a party for her. Everyone expected you there. Posts all over the internet. 'She made her better, right?’ ‘Why isn't Vern here? I thought she was human now.’ 'Well it looks like our old “Guardian Angel” is back to her cold hearted self.”

You just turned off your phone and slept through the party. It didn't matter how much the comments hurt, you just couldn't bring yourself to be surrounded with the reminder of your loss.

The past has never mattered before though. So instead you focus on opening the back door into the kitchen. A small child -her child- sits on a stool in front of the kitchen island, munching on a half empty bowl of dry cereal. She stares at you. It's only been a month since you've seen her, but she looks like a whole new person.

When she got the news of her mother's passing, she was in shock, she barely ate, slept, or bathed without your help. She was almost six at the time. Too much for such a young soul.

Now she sat at your island just a little taller, her eyes just bright enough to notice, and a clear knack for waking early. You force yourself to speak for the first time in two months. It's croaky and you choke on your words for a moment. After giving yourself a moment you try again, “So, I see you're up early.”

She looks back down to her bowl, “Didn't sleep.” You're put off by the way she speaks. It's clipped and nearly emotionless. So much for her being better.

You can't think of a reply, so you turn to go back to your room, when the kid speaks again. “Let me guess, you need some more “jobs”.” She didn't phrase it like a question. A small part of you felt guilty, but instead of apologizing, you look away from her sharp green eyes and look at the wall past her long black hair. Just like usual, you don't respond. After all, you were thinking about calling your boss back. Walking away, the image of her hurt expression is burnt into your mind's eye.

You don’t have time for this. It's time to work.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes during the rain you forget where you are. Don't worry, that just means were doing our job. You should be happy about this.
> 
> (Roast me in the comments, I dare you.)


End file.
